


Walk to the One You Love

by psuedoangelic



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Jealousy, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psuedoangelic/pseuds/psuedoangelic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Whiskey comes out to Bitty, they become closer. Others begin to notice and some become jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title based on song by a cool band named Twin Peaks

The Haus kitchen was finally clean; the counters plastic tops have a gleam, the dishes are in the dishwasher, and Bitty even got Chowder to take out the trash. Bitty just stood in the doorway admiring his hard work, hands on hips and sighing. He felt like Cinderella right before the ball—tired, overworked, and waiting for his Prince Charming.

At that moment, the front door creaks, groans, and then slams shut. Chowder runs into the kitchen and stood next to Bitty. “Is this because Jack’s coming to visit?” his voice races right through the question—Bitty’s poor hyper child.

“My dear,” Bitty settles his hand on the bouncing goalie’s shoulder and Chowder instantly calms, “this has been a long time coming. Jack’s visit has just sped up the process.” Bitty turns and gathers Chowder into his arms for a hug. Chowder feels solid and warm. Bitty lays his head on his shoulder. It feels so nice to have his adopted son in his arms. This Haus has turned into a less snuggly place since Shitty left, and technology hasn’t caught up enough for Bitty to hug his boyfriend through Skype, so he has to teach Chowder to settle down enough to cuddle. Bitty’s arms grip tightly around Chowder’s waist and presses his own relaxed body to Chowder’s hyper one. Gradually, Chowder vibrating drains out. Chowder begins to rub Bitty’s back. _Farmer’s a lucky gal¸_ Bitty thinks.

“I love you and so does Jack, Chowder, but let’s try not to overwhelm Jack when he gets here.” Bitty sighs and pulls back. He feels a little empty when Chowder’s arms draw away; God, he really needs a good cuddle session (or maybe get laid, Bitty isn’t too picky).

“Bitty, you don’t even have to worry. I have chilled like so much since Jack has last seen me. I mean, c’mon even Nursey loves hanging out with me. I have basically perfected his level of cool. Just look.” Chowder settles his face into a blank canvas. His eyebrows hovers over his eyes and his mouth straightens into a thin line. Bitty is actually impressed for a moment until Chowder makes direct eye contact and instantly bursts out laughing.

“Oh, just you wait and see, Bitty. I’ll make you proud!” Chowder turns and skips up the stairs.

Bitty turns back to his kitchen. His heart sits up and jumps looking at the spick and span of the room. It really did look nice, and Bitty would hate to even step in there (maybe he should put up some caution tape to keep all those messy boys out), but then his fingers twitch; he feels the urge to bake and how could he resist that?

Bitty crosses from the hallway to the oven. He rests his hand on a burner and he could almost feel his heart swell. “I love you, Betsy 2,” he whispers. “Forgive me for what I’m about to do.” He pats the burner once and begins to lift himself onto his tippy toes. Bitty gets his knee safely onto the stove and uses all the upper body strength that he can manage to pull himself the rest of the way up. Wobbling only for a moment, Bitty gets himself under control and opens the cabinet above him. Whoever put the baking pans up so high were going to get a visit from his tiny fist.

The cabinet is as dark and mysterious as a cave. All the metal ware hide like bats waiting along the sides. Bitty stretches with all his might for a silver pan that he can just make out in the back. Straining, blood rushes in his ears and head, and his tongue slips between his teeth. Finally Bitty has his hand on the spring form pan when he hears the creak of the door again. As he begins to pull the pan down, Bitty’s knees start to wobble, teetering. “Woah, there.” Whiskey’s voice echoes from the doorway—the storm in his ears keeps him from hearing the warning. Bitty’s focus zeroes on keeping his hold on the pan.  

Warm and big hands grasp his waist. Somewhere in his stomach something flips and twist like a Russian gymnast.

“Thanks, Whiskey. I thought I had that.” Bittle huffs a laugh. Whiskey slips his hands off Bitty’s lithe waist but Bitty feels the shadow of them as he slowly slides off the oven, first sticking out one foot and settling it down, and then the other follows. From Whiskey’s perspective he must look like a doe learning to walk for the first time, all gangly legs and no balance.

“It’s no problem.” Whiskey’s face as usual was carved from steel. Bitty doesn’t know Whiskey well enough to read past his bland mask. Whisky never says much; worry twists Bitty’s gut. Well-worn thoughts jog through his mind: is he making friends or is he adjusting well to college? This team is loud and boisterous, and someone so quiet can get trampled over and pushed to the background.

“What’s up, Whiskey? What brings you to this humble abode?” Bitty sets the pan on the counter and turns to Whiskey. He runs his fingers through his hair; the coif settles over his brow.

“I was, uh, actually looking for you.”

“You were?” Bitty’s brow cringles. Embarrassment doesn’t even read across Whiskey’s face; there was no sign of awkwardness, so Bitty must be the only one feeling it.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slouches and he scuffs his shoe against the linoleum. “Could we sit down?”

For a second, words can’t form in his throat. Whiskey doesn’t look sad or upset, maybe a bit nervous, but dammit, Bitty can’t get a read on him. And, this was exactly what he was worried about: Whiskey not adjusting well. Man, if only Whiskey could have waited like forty more minutes and there would have been pie to soften this conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, come on over here.” Bitty puts a hand on Whiskey’s back and steers him to the table. Bitty sits right across him. There is enough distance so that they don’t crowd each other but Bitty can still reach out his hand to comfort him.

“What’s up? Is everyone treating you nicely? I know it can be overwhelming at first. I almost quit like ten times in my first year. I mean, I had Jack Zimmerman yelling at me nearly every day. And, you know, you can always talk to me—really to anyone.” Bitty’s breath runs out and he has to stop. He is going to scare this boy off before he could even express his problems.

Bitty folds his hands into his lap. “I’m sorry. You were saying.”

A ghost of a smile makes an appearance on Whiskey’s face quickly and then it disappears like a mirage in the desert heat. “It’s like this: I know that you’re out with the team and all.” Bitty blushes. “And, like, I was out to my high school team, but I don’t know how to come out to these guys. Should I just be like ‘hey, I’m gay’?” Whiskey sounds so chill about it—he was on a level where chill was actually exuded instead of just talked about—cough, cough, Nursey.

Bitty can’t restrain himself, despite Whiskey’s cool exterior, he reaches across the divide and clutches Whiskey’s hands. “This is great. Now I have a reason to actually cook. What would you like? A coming out cake or pie?” Bitty was already half way out of his chair.

“Uh?” Whiskey quirks his brow. Oh poor sweet child still wasn’t used Bitty’s mother henning. “Wait a moment. You forgot to answer my question.”

Bitty sighs and settles back on his chair. “Shitty was so much better at this.” He lets go of Whiskey’s hands. Who even knew what that hipster was up to now? Bitty was going to have carry on the legacy of lgbtq acceptance, and then he’ll have to pass it on to—Whiskey, he guesses.

“Okay, so the thing is, I came to Samwell because of its acceptance, but it still took me awhile to do it. Even if you’re pretty sure people will accept you, you never really know. Anyways, it just felt good to be honest, so coming out was literally me sitting people down one at a time and just telling them, and it spread from there. Honestly everyone was so supportive. Like no one on this team is gonna be mean about it. You just gotta say it, on your terms, in your own way.” Bitty bites his lip. God, was he making any sense or scaring this child back into the closet? He looks up, and Whiskey looks thoughtful, looking off into God knows where.

“Uh, does that help?”

Whiskey purses his lips. “Mm yeah, I think so.” He takes a deep breath and stands up. “Thanks, Bitty. If you could just not like tell people, but you don’t have to deny it, you know.” He starts heading towards the hallway.

Bitty jolts out of his chair. “Wait, I still owe you a cake!” Bitty never gets the opportunity to make anyone a coming-out cake. Right now, it’s something Bittle made up—an idea without any real action—and Whiskey is about to leave before he even has his chance to do it. “You look like a chocolate cake kind of guy, am I right?”

“Oh, I guess, chocolate sounds good.”

“Don’t just say chocolate to please me. Anything you want. Nothing is too hard, mind you.” Bitty was already around the table and making his way for that dang spring form pan again.

“No, really, chocolate is my favorite.” Whiskey shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs.

Bitty swung around and pointed the pan at Whiskey. He narrowed his eyes. “You best not be lying to me.” The look Whiskey gives him is so undisturbed by Bitty’s display that the only thing Bitty can do is laugh.

“Okay, okay. You get going; I’ll stop bothering you.”

Whiskey turns and marches up the stairs, probably to go hang out with Chowder. They hang out a lot actually, but Bitty worries about Whiskey being overwhelmed—Chowder can talk enough for three people. Maybe that’s how it works: Chowder does all the talking while Whiskey can be comfortable in his own silence. Bitty shrugs, whatever works for them.

That didn’t matter to him right now. Bitty heart is on cloud nine and thrumming harder than a cicada’s wings. There is another gay person on their team! Bitty sets down the pan and does a twirl and fist pumps the air. Nothing against his straight teammates, but it is nice to have someone with similar interests as you. It’s like finding another southerner on a New England college campus.

All in all, Bitty can’t wait to make his first coming out cake.

~~~        

After making one chocolate cake and another maple sugar pie and then wiping everything down one more time, Bitty is exhausted. He flops down on his bed and lays there for a good ten minutes. A yawn over takes his body; his mouth aches with the wide stretch of his jaw. He turns into his pillow and snuggles in for a moment.

As he drifts, his laptop lights up blue and the skype jingle wakes Bitty back up. Jack’s default icon greets him when he hits the green accept button.

“Hey, honey,” Bitty greets. He hits the video camera button in the corner and soon he sees his own face looking disheveled—his hair mussed and face red.

“You look tired.” Jack’s voice echoes a little in Bitty’s room.

“A bit. Give me a moment. I need to change. Also, I don’t have my head phones in.” Bitty’s voice slurs a little. His voice is usually a honey sweet voice version of a spring day, but right now, it is deeper and slower like a mouthful of molasses.

Bitty angles the laptop towards himself so Jack won’t be staring at a wall. First thing, Bittle goes to his dresser and pulls out the biggest shirt he has. Well, technically it belonged to Jack a long, long time ago, but what is the point of a boyfriend if Bitty can’t steal his things? Then Bitty reaches toward his jeans’ button and looks at the bright light that signals that his laptop camera is on. He bites his lips and flicks the metal circle out of its hole. Slowly, ever so slowly, he hooks his thumbs through the belt loops and sways his hips as the denim pulls down, down, down over his ass. He turns around to show Jack his red boxer briefs. Bitty absorbs the quick inhale that emanates from the tiny speakers. With his hips free, Bittle lets his pants fall to the ground. He turns his head over his shoulder and smirks like he was a girl model in a photoshoot. When Jack comes tomorrow, he could bring his camera, then they could really have some fun.

“Like what you see?” Bitty whispers. The words escape as a caress that curls around his tongue and travels the miles that it needed to touch Jack.

Jack clears his throat. “Uh.” A breathy sigh escapes.

Bitty smirks. He crosses his arms and quickly throws off his shirt. The big falcons’ jersey cascades down his front. His body feels tiny and warm; under the fabric, he can feel his arm touching his rib. Finally he grabs the laptop and lays down on the soft pillows. He curls on his side like a cat and positions Jack so that he still see him; like they’re lying next to each other. He mumbles some curses as he untangles the blanket from the bottom of his bunk and brings up it and over himself. The blanket feels warm, and the feather light pillows make him feel safe and cozy.

“Okay, I’m all comfy, babe.” He blinks at himself in the camera. The picture makes him look like a little bird poking its head out of the nest.

Jack’s default icon still takes up most of the page. “You know, honey, your camera isn’t on.” Bitty hides his smile in the folds of his comforter.

“Oh, shoot,” Jack whispers. Bitty hears the deep click of his mouse, and then Jack’s face warm and smiling appears like some kind of wish fulfillment. Bitty giggles into his pillow.

“How was your day, honey?” Bitty settles in. This is his favorite part of their calls: the part where Jack gushes about his day, where Bitty feels like for second he’s a part of Jack’s day. Jack always has this soft, small smile when he talks about living his NHL dream.

“Eh, nothing.” His lips begin to tug up. “We ran a lot of drills today, so my legs are sore. After practice, Tater and Snowy invited me to lunch. We went to this burger place, and I had this milkshake that might be better than your pies.” Jack smirks crookedly.

Bitty huffs. “I know you’re chirping me, so go on ahead. Don’t make you right, though.”

Jack chuckles. “How many pies did you make today?”

“I’ll have you know,” Bitty turns up his nose, “that I made one cake and one pie, which was going to go to a certain someone, but now I may just let the boys have it.” Bitty looks down at Jack and he has the softest expression on his face that makes Bittle’s heart squeeze with so much emotion. His throat tightens.

“And this certain someone? Are they special to you?” Jack eyes glint with mischievous intent. He fancies himself to be a real comedian.

Bitty hums.  “Depends on what your definition of special is? Does he make me smile and blush every time I see his face? Hm, I guess so. Do butterflies flap around my stomach when I think of him? I suppose.” The red on Jack’s cheeks was extraordinary. It was like God had an artist paint it on him.

Those damn butterflies start making a fuss again.

“He sounds like an okay guy,” Jack whispers. And this is it; this is the moment Bitty finally dies at peace with how content and warm he feels. The feeling settles into his bones, so deep. He has never felt so much and so good before. It’s like being hyper aware of the world, where your ears can hear everything and your eyes see color in sharp focus, and it doesn’t even hurt or overwhelm like it should. It’s good.

“Yeah, I guess.” Bitty grins.

Jack slides down into his blue comforter, turns and fluffs his pillows, and settles in. “So, now, you have to tell me about your day.”

“Let’s see . . . I cleaned the kitchen for tomorrow. Ah, Chowder is very excited to see you. And, oh yeah, Whiskey came out to me, which let me tell you is super awesome.” Bitty throws off his comforter and sits up. He leans forward. “Oh my god! I baked him a coming out cake like I said I was gonna do! I feel like Shitty. I don’t know how he kept cool and not burst out celebrating. But I was chill and I didn’t scare him off!”

“Aw, that’s cool. And Whiskey is the quiet one?”

“Yeah, he’s a cutie pie. He hangs out with Chowder a lot ironically. He reminds me of you and how you used to be so silent and brooding. Hopefully we can get him to open up some.”

 “I can’t wait to tell Shitty. He’ll be so proud.” Jack’s droopy eyes hold a tendency to sparkle with emotion, and right now Bitty can see the fondness in those doe eyes

“Mhm, I’m the new gay mother. I’m just happy to have another out person on the team.” Bitty grins and his eyes crinkle.  “We can have sleepovers and talk about boys. And we can debate LGBT politics.” Bitty giggles.

“I’m happy you have someone like that.” Jack’s voice is subdued, clogged with some kind of emotion. His eyes dart away from the screen like a fly swarming around.

“Oh honey, that don’t mean I don’t love you with everything I got.” He clutches his southern heart. “You not being out was fine. I was fine with it, and I respect your journey. But you also have to understand that I need some queer friends. Anyways, you’re out to me now, and that’s all that really matters.”

Jack sighs and resigns his mouth to a soft smile. “You’re right. I just got weirdly jealous for a moment.” Jack chuckles but it’s as stale as week old bread. Bitty’s heart clenches with the sound, and he wants to smooth Jack’s brow, reassure him that it doesn’t matter. What’s in the past is over. And no one means more to Bitty than Jack. All he can do is try to erase the bad stuff from Jack’s mind.

“I mean, we could talk about boys.” Bitty settles back into his nest of blankets and pillows. “Snowy is cute. Let’s discuss.”

“Okay, sure. He’s cute, agreed, but I’ve only seen him with a beard. I wonder if he would be cute without it?” Jack smirks and his eyes sparkle.

“Ooooh, touché.”

And that’s how Bittle spends his night. Joking and giggling about boys in the NHL. Debating about which one was cuter. It was just nice to see Jack smiling and participating. This is what Bittle dreamed about when he pictured his future boyfriend: smiling and laughing until the sun came out.

But then Bitty started dozing off, and Jack had to call it a night.

“Night, Bits. I love you.” Jack’s eyes were fluttering closed too.

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart. I love you.” He blows a kiss to the screen and signs off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack comes over a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sorry because I'm a gosh dang liar who lied. I said I was gonna update every couple days, but it's been a little over a week. But now I'm finally posting the second chapter and some drama is about to go down.

“Bitty, staring out the window won’t make Jack come faster,” Holster chides him.

“Dude, he looks like he’s thinking: When will my husband return from war?” Ransom joins in.

Leaning over the sink, Bitty snaps head to see Holster and Ransom falling all each other laughing. _They’re such brats_ , Bitty thinks. He folds arms over his chest and moves to stand in front of them. His chest puffs out, trying to look authoritative like some kind of vice principle.

“Yall have no chill. I’m just looking out the window, and yall gotta chirp me.” Bitty huffs.

“Aw, Bits. No need to get in a fuss.” Holster grabs his shoulder and gives it a light shake. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“Um, Jack-Visits Day?” Well, that’s all that matters to Bittle.

“No! It’s time to continue getting caught up on Rupaul’s Drag Race!”

“That’s my time to leave.” Ransom turns and runs up the stairs.

“Ugh, but season seven sucks.”

“Well, we have a very limited time before season eight starts, so we gotta get moving.” Holster grabs Bitty’s shoulders, spins him around and starts for the living room. The green couch looms nearer and nearer. He could practically smell the mold from here. The green color made it look slimy like someone spilled nuclear waste on it (maybe someone did). And the stains on it were unidentifiable. It was a frat boy's Jackson Pollack.

Before Holster could force him down, they hear another pair of footsteps coming downstairs. Whiskey stands at the bottom of the steps with his eyebrows quirked. Bitty smiles. “Hey, Whiskey. You wanna watch drag race with us?” Bitty holds out his hand and waits for Whiskey. He scrunches his lips then nods yes.

“Right on, dude.” Holster gives Whiskey a fist pump when he comes to the couch.

“Okay, I’m gonna need yall to sit down first. I need to figure how I’m gonna sit without touching the couch.” Holster plops down on one end of the couch and Whiskey takes the other end. Bitty puts his hand on his chin and hums. He could get a blanket from his room and lay on that, but then he’d have to wash it and Bitty is too lazy for that.

Bitty runs into the kitchen and whips out the drawer next to the oven. Pens and pencils roll around with the force, but Bittle ignores them for the saran wrap stuffed in the back. He grabs the nearly empty box and runs back into the living room. As he whips out the plastic sheet, it shrieks, and Whiskey raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Are you kidding me, Bitty?” Holster complains. “Just sit down.”

Bitty frowns. “You’re lucky I didn’t just throw out this couch when Shitty left. Just help me out and wrap the cushions in plastic.”

Holster grabs the plastic with a sigh and an eye roll. The plastic stretches and Holster tucks it behind the top cushion; and pulls out some more and tucks it in the crack; and pulls out more and tucks it under the bottom cushion. Now the middle seat is wrapped in shiny plastic.

Bitty throws the cardboard box towards the kitchen and slowly lowers his butt onto the cushion. Carefully he sits back and breathes a sigh.

“Thank you.” He smiles at Holster and then at Whiskey. “So, Whiskey have you watched Drag Race before?”

Whiskey puts his elbow on the arm and props his chin on his palm. “I’m gay, of course I have.”

Behind him, Bitty hears the remote clatter on the ground. He whips his head around and Holster is staring wide eyed and O-mouthed. Bitty wants to push his damn mouth back into place; he could catch flies like that.

“Brah, why didn’t you say this sooner? I’m so happy to have another drag racer with us.” Holster stretches his fist across Bitty’s face. Whiskey sits up and bumps it. Bitty searched his face but nothing showed. No reaction to coming out so casually.

“I’ve been watching with Bitty for so long, and he has lost his enthusiasm.”

“I have not. It’s just this season. I mean Pearl’s cute but she tried to come for Ru, and I can’t stand for that.” Bitty shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Don’t come for my mother.”

“What about you, Whiskey?”

Whiskey had resumed his position of relaxed leaning on the couch. “Yeah, I’d fuck Pearl, but I wouldn’t want to date him.”

Bitty bounces up and down. “Yes! Exactly what I mean!” He holds up his hand. “Okay, high five, come on. I know bros do this.”

Whiskey smirks; his lips actually curl out of his usual deadpan expression. He rolls his eyes, but sits up and gives Bitty his hand. Their palms meet with a slap, and the feeling vibrated through Bitty’s body. His cheeks warm with a happy thought: _Whiskey’s my friend._ It’s a surprising turn from yesterday when Bitty never knew anything more than Whiskey’s loaded silence. It reminded Bitty of Jack and hard silences that Bitty had to ram his body against during checking practice until he was able to talk to him.

Bitty turns back to the TV, and soon RuPaul’s cackling laughter fills the room. The three of them watch raptly as the drag queens struggle to be funny and fashionable. Holster rips into every one of the queen’s looks and personality. Adam Birkholtz does not hold back, and constantly Bitty has to stop a moment to breathe and clutch his aching sides from laughing so hard.

“Pearl acts like me when I’m in my 8 a. m.”

“Ginger ‘frog face’ Minj should not be throwing shade when she is looking so pedestrian.”

“What is Max’s accent? Is she purposefully trying to sound British and pompous?” Whiskey asks sounding truly baffled.

“I don’t even know. Someone should come for her like everyone came for Laganja last season.” Bitty puts his hand on his chin and watches as Max complains about sex and the other queens. The way she talks makes Bittle’s arm hair bristle like a dog’s scruff.

“I bet you she’s going to go far this season,” Holster comments.

“I wouldn’t be upset with that. I just wish she’d stop acting so uppity.”

Whiskey snorts. “I’ve seen this season, and you’re gonna be surprised.”

Bitty clutches Whiskey’s arms. “Don’t say anything! I don’t want any spoilers.”

Whiskey smirks. “Hmm, I have so much power right now. I could just let something slip on accident.” Bitty digs his fingernails into his arm. “Ow! Okay just joking.” Whiskey smirks like some kind of evil asshole, but Bitty should laugh anyways.

But Bitty can feel something prickling on the back of his neck. He turns and Holster is just smiling at them. He has that look that he gets right before he tries to steal one of Bitty’s cupcakes off the cooling rack. He looks like the cat that ate the canary.

Bittle takes a deep breath to tell him to stop it when the door screeches loud against the door jamb. Bitty hops off the couch faster than a jackrabbit on hot asphalt. At the door, in all his glory, stands Jack Zimmerman clutching a duffle bag at his shoulder, clad in all his falcons’ gear (hat, shirt, jacket). Bitty’s heart starts beating out double time.

“Jack,” he gasps. Then he launches himself at his boyfriend before any coherent thought can catch him. Bitty clings to Jack’s body, head nestled into his chest. He takes a deep breath in and smells lavender, old spice, and the stale smell of metal and Styrofoam sticks to him—he must have just come from the gym. Bitty squeezes tighter and his throat clogs. “I missed you.” Jack laughs and rubs his back.

“Yo, man. What’s up?” Holster’s booming voice right over him shakes Bitty. He quickly pries himself away from Jack’s large chest. Jack and Holster bro fist, smack their hands together and pull together to bro-hug—which is just a hug with a lot of back smacking.

“You know how it is, eh?” Jack smiles and his big dopey eyes crinkle. It feels so right and normal to have Jack in the Haus again that Bitty could almost pretend that he was still a sophomore and Jack was a senior, and they still have a year to be close together in this rickety old house. That Bitty could wake up tomorrow and open his door to see Jack already up and making his way out to a run.

Bitty has to swallow past the emotion building in his throat. But now they are together, and it is so much better than having Jack close in proximity and pining. Anyways Jack is here for the weekend, and there is no time to think about what ifs but here and now.

Before Bitty can even blink, five more pairs of feet are clamoring down the stairs. Ransom, Chowder, Dex, and Nursey are stampeding down the staircase; Lardo walks gracefully behind them.

“Jack!” A cacophony of voices shout. The whole pack of them rush Jack and they tumble to the floor. Lardo strolls over and plants an arm on her waist. She taps her doc marten boot while she watches the jumble of limbs writhe around the floor. Jack’s head eventually pops out of the mess, and his hat is gone and his hair sticks up like a hedgehog’s coat.

“Lardo.” He grins softly.

She holds out her hand and pries him away from the arms and legs. He jumps out and immediately pulls her into his chest. Her lips pull up into a soft smile, and Bitty feels his heart swell. Lardo pushes at his chest and extracts herself from the hug. Her features school themselves back into her natural blasé look.

“Long time, no see.” She folds her arms across her chest.

“Professional hockey. What can you do?” Jack shrugs and Lardo punches his shoulder. They just nod like they have telepathy and all that needs to be said has been communicated where no one else can hear.

Bitty takes the opportunity to scoot closer to Jack. “Hey, let’s not overwhelm Jack. Here,” he gets his hand under the duffle strap and lifts it, “I’ll take this, and get him all settled in. Yall go do something productive.” He shoos them away with his hand like flies around fresh food, and soon the crowd breaks up—Ransom, Holster, and Whiskey go back into the living room, and the others head for the kitchen.

While Jack’s head is turned, Bitty tries to lift the duffle, but sure enough, Jack quickly grabs Bitty’s hand. He slips the strap back onto his shoulder. “I got it.” Jack starts for the stairs and turns around at the first step. “Coming, Bittle?” When Jack smirks, Bitty wants to wipe it off with a napkin like some doting mother. It’s a disgrace to his poor, weak heart.

Bitty shakes his head and races up the stairs as fast as he is on the ice. He runs right past Jack, into his room, and stands by his door. Jack takes his sweet time up the stairs, staring right at Bitty with his devil-laden smirk. When Jack gets to the door, he just brushes past Bittle like this is a Sunday picnic for both them.

Slowly Bitty closes the door. If they were teenagers at his parents’ house, he would have to keep it open in order to prevent any untoward sexual advances—good thing they’re both responsible adults. Jack puts down his duffle bag, and Bitty stands back a moment to take him in—his swelling backside, broad shoulders, and messy hair. It makes him feel warm and good inside like taking a bath after a long day. The distance between right now and every night when they skype makes Bitty feel wary and tired in his bones, but being close enough to fill that gap right here, right now, allows his breath to slow and his heart to thud.

He crosses the room and wraps his arms around Jack’s back, pushes his face in Jack’s muscular shoulders, and squeezes. Bitty can feel Jack shift and stand straight, he can feel Jack’s deep, big, calming breaths. Like a puppy, Bitty nuzzles into him. “I missed you.”

Bitty can feel Jack’s chuckle. “How did you convince everyone that letting me spend the night in your room was a good option?”

Bitty flushes and Jack turns so that now Bitty can hide his face into Jack’s chest. “Oh, you know, I just had to convince Chowder that you’d be more comfortable in my room. He really wanted you to spend the night in your old room. Anyways, they think you’re straight, so I think we’re good.”

For a good thirty seconds, they don’t say anything or move. But eventually, Jack shifts and his warm hands drag up and down Bitty’s back; Jack’s calluses catch on Bitty’s shirt every once and awhile. It feels right and calming, and Bitty could fall asleep right there.

“So, was that Whiskey or Tango I saw downstairs?” Jack asks quietly and casual, not breaking the bubble that has formed in their own moment.

“That’s Whiskey.” Bitty chuckles. “We were just watching Rupaul’s Drag Race downstairs with Holster before you came in.”

Jack hums and Bitty looks up at him. Jack’s cheeks, and honestly his whole face, looks like it was carved from stone. Did Michelangelo sculpt him just to make gay boys like Bittle weep every day because of his beauty? Internally Bittle celebrates that Jack belongs to him, and externally he stretches his neck and kisses Jack. He loses himself in the sensation of soft, plushy lips tumbling together.

Moans escape from both participants, but Jack is the first to pull away. Jack leans his forehead against Bitty’s, and they’re in their own world again. Jack lifts his head and plants kiss right below Bittle’s hair line. Shivers crawl up Bitty’s spine.

“I know we should go back downstairs, but I don’t wanna,” Bitty whispers.

Bitty feels Jack’s chest expand with a sigh, and Jack steps back. Instead of frowning at the floor like a scolded child, Bitty looks up and sees Jack’s fond face and crinkly, dopey eyes.

“As your former captain, I’m going to say we have to go downstairs.”  Jack slides his up and down Bitty’s arms. Jack’s right; they can’t just stay in his room forever. It would be selfish to hide Jack away all for himself up here like the last piece of food. So Bitty bites his lip and musters the resolve to step away from temptation and walk out the door.

The urge to turn around to grab Jack’s hand and guide him has Bitty clenching and unclenching his hands all the way into the living room. Holster and Whiskey sit on the couch, hunched close whispering. Bitty steps on a creaky floorboard and both of them snap their heads around so fast they give Bitty whiplash just looking at them.

“What are yall up to?” Bitty quirks his eyebrow.

Holster, smooth and calm as can be, says, “Nothing much. How ‘bout you?”

And gosh dang Whiskey’s stoic face. Bitty can sense that they’re plotting something like how you can feel the electricity of a thunderstorm before the onslaught reaches town. Anyways, anyone on the team plotting always leads to disaster. Like the time that Holster tried to surprise Ransom on his birthday by hiding behind the attic door. And let’s just say it ended with a bloody nose and five hours at the doctor’s office.

“Nothing much either. I was just going to cut Jack a piece of that maple sugar pie. I would offer yall some, but secrets don’t make friends, and only friends get pie. C’mon Jack.”

Bitty turns and trots off to the kitchen without even looking back. Jack can follow him if he wants, but Bitty knows that he can’t deal with those boys right now.

In the kitchen, it’s not much better. The frogs are crowding around the table, while Ransom and Lardo open and close different cabinets, probably trying to find food. Bitty makes his way to the fridge and grabs the pie and cake. The plates balance precariously on his arms.

“Hey, Bits, I’ll help you with that.” Lardo pops up next to him.

“Sure. Wouldn’t want to drop anything.”

“Yeah, and a slice of that chocolate cake would be a nice reward.”

Bitty sighs. “Okay.” Lardo lifts the cake out of his hand. The chocolate cake rests on a blue plate with floral decoration on the edges; it’s one of the few plates Bitty brought from home. Bitty keeps his hands full with the pie tin and a knife.

Lardo follows Bitty into the living room. Jack sits on the couch next to Whiskey.

“Holster, did you even introduce Whiskey to Jack? I swear yall have no manners.”  

Bitty sets the pie on the coffee table, and Lardo follows his example. The crust of the pie is brown and flakey. When he got it out of the oven, he knocked a knife against the edges, and the resulting crunch was a symphony to Bitty’s baker ears. Bitty slides the pie cutter through the crispy top layer and the implement glides smoothly through the filling.

Holster says, “Jack, Whiskey. Whiskey, Jack.” Bitty huffs and looks up.

Jack extends his hand to Whiskey with a small smile on his face. “Nice to meet you. Hope these guys aren’t messing with you too much.”

Whiskey’s hand grasps Jack’s, and Bitty can see how Jack’s knuckles blanch white. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I like how that sounds like we are so mean to you,” Bitty mocks.

A soft smile graces Whiskey’s face. “Nah, I have some really cool teammates.”

Bitty giggles and slices the first piece of the pie. He hands it to Jack. Their hands connect under the plate, and Jack lets his fingers linger as Bitty pulls away. Bitty slices a piece of the cake. “Oh, Whiskey, is it okay, if I give Lardo a piece of your cake?”

“His cake?” Lardo says from her perch on the arm of the couch. “Why does he get a cake?”

“You never make me desserts!” Holster whines.

“Well, when you deserve them, then I’ll make you some. Anyways, how many pies have I made for the whole Haus?”

“I stopped counting after a hundred,” Jack adds.

“Thank you, Jack. So, I can pick and choose who I want to make something for.”

“I’m okay with it. I’m not gonna eat it all by myself.” Lardo extends her fist and Whiskey bumps it.

“A true bro.” Lardo snatches the first piece of cake off the coffee table and hands it to Whiskey. Bitty sighs and quickly measures out another slice. He hands it over to Lardo and her hungry eyes.

Holster harrumphs, crosses his arms and frowns a like five-year-old. Bitty sighs, “Would you like a piece too?”

 A smile flips onto his face, and he nods enthusiastically.

“Which kind?”

He quickly taps the pie tin repeatedly.

“Holster, use your words, buddy,” Lardo scolds through a mouth full of cake, crumbling spewing everywhere.

Bitty slices and hands Holster a piece before he can get too annoying. With everyone munching and chewing away at their desserts, Bitty leans back and watches as everyone goes through their mini-stages of euphoria. Holster, Whiskey, and Lardo make mildly erotic moans. On the other hand, Jack just closes his eyes and smiles.

After all the food is cleared from his plate, Holster lifts it and mops his tongue all along the edges and middle of the plate.

“You okay, there?” Bitty frowns with concern.

“I think I need a ShamWow because I just flooded my basement.”

Bittle slams his head on the coffee table, while Whiskey and Lardo lose it. Jack looks like Holster spoke in Spanish.

Bitty stands. “And this is why we need to stop watching drag race.”

He starts grabbing plates out of everyone’s hands. They’re empty and licked clean, but Eric Richard Bittle is not one to let a mess lie. And because he is a host with the most, Bitty will not let Jack, his guest, sit around in a mess.

“Here, Bitty, let me help.” Bitty looks up and Whiskey already has the pie tin and cake in his hands. On the other end of the couch, Jack's face darkens.

“No, no. It’s fine. Yall should relax.”

“Bitty, let the man help you.” Holster winks at Whiskey.

By the time Bitty turns back to argue with Whiskey, he was already gone. He can already hear the unsticking of the fridge door. Bitty looks to Jack, but Jack only shrugs. The whole situation is weird and stinks of foul and nefarious planning on the part of Holster and Whiskey, but Bitty rolls his eyes and follows on after Whiskey.

When Bitty enters his kitchen, the table where the frogs were sitting is a ghost town, and Ransom seemed to have high-tailed it out of there too.

Bitty sets the plates carefully in the sink. Whiskey has his nose firmly in the fridge.

Turning on the hot water, Bitty plugs the sink and squeezes a generous amount of soap into the basin. While he waits for it to fill, he leans against the sink and watches Whiskey straighten out of the fridge.

“Wanna dry?”

“Sure.” He smiles.

Bitty stops the water, snaps on his yellow cleaning gloves, and dives right into the steaming dish water. He grabs out a plate and starts scrubbing. Not much dirt clings to the plate, and soon he hands it right off Whiskey.

“Hey, Bitty?” Whiskey's voice comes out tentative and unsure, and it startles Bitty.

Bitty grabs the plate tighter. “Somethin’ wrong, Whiskey?”

“Nothing really. I just have to ask you a question.” Whiskey wipes the plate dry and sets it carefully on the counter. He frowns and bites his lip for a moment but also refuses to look up. Bitty hands another plate to distract him.

Whiskey wipes the plate like it’s his mama’s fine china. “And you have to promise that if you say no, that it won’t affect our friendship or anything, okay?”

Bitty’s stomach swoops down to his toes; this is the second time in two days that Whiskey needed to have a serious talk with him. He pulls off one his gloves and squeezes Whiskey’s forearm. “Of course, honey. We’re friends and teammates. Ain’t nothing ever gonna change that? Go on ask your question.”

“Okay. So, I was talking to Holster, and he thought it was a good idea . . .”

“Oh dear,” Bitty mutters.

“Ha, I know, but um. I think you’re really nice, Bittle, and I’d like it if we could, like, go for coffee sometime.”

The plate in his hand slips and thuds down the sink, while Bitty tightens his mouth not to gasp. Behind him, he hears a throat clear. Bitty whips around to see Jack’s flushed face and Holster comes rushing in right after him.

“Um, sorry to interrupt. I wanted to tell Bitty that I was going upstairs to his room.” Jack’s eyes frantically search Bitty’s face. “I’ll just leave you two to it.”

Holster just holds up two thumbs and runs back into the living room, and Bitty watches Jack run upstairs. He turns back to Whiskey, and his brown eyes stare earnestly back at him. Bittle’s eyes prickle and he has to swallow a breath and wait a moment.

“Um, haha,” Bittle’s brain hardware has been attacked by an awkward moment virus, and he can’t think of a gosh darn thing to say. “That’s so sweet of you. Ah, can I think on it for a little bit, and then I’ll get back to you?” Whiskey frowns but nods his approval.

Bitty sucks in a breath much easier now. He leaves the empty plates in the sink and makes a mad dash for the stairs. His heart pounds in his chest as he thinks about Jack sitting up in his room—he could be mad or depressed or anything. All Bitty could do right now was run up the stairs and think _Goddammit, goddammit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So If you enjoyed that, please kudos/comment/bookmark. It would be much appreciated. In the meantime, y'all can hit me up on tumblr @coldwarlesbian


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm a terrible human being. I took forever to write this, but I wanted it to be really, really good. Anyways, all I can really say is that endings are super hard. But despite all of that, I hope yall enjoy.

The door to his room is firmly closed. Bitty lays his hand on it; the wood feels sturdy, thick. From the outside, he feels cold, lonely, separated. In the heat of the moment, Bitty thought he needed to run and console Jack, but now his throat feels dry and scratchy, the door looks so heavy and his arms feel so weak.

Bitty gulps in the air from around him and twists the knob.

Inside the room it’s dim; the afternoon light softly shines through window, but the room looks dull. Jack sits on Bitty’s bed. The light from his window filters through his shadowy hair.

Bitty swallows down the lump in his throat and steps forward.

“I’m sorry, Jack. This is all my fault.”

Jack hunches over and grabs the laces of his shoes. His nail digs at the knot. It separates, and he reties it furiously.

“No, it’s not.” His voice sounds like it’s coming right out of the TV—like he’s answering press questions instead of talking to his boyfriend.

Bitty wrings his hands. “I’ll just tell him that I’m not looking to date, o-or I could say that I only see us as friends.”

 Jack straightens and pushes himself off the bed. His halo of light is left behind warming Bitty’s bed.

“It’s my fault.” He still hasn’t looked Bitty in the eyes. He keeps fiddling with his hat.

“What are you even talking about?” Bitty wants to touch Jack, to tighten his fingers around his brick jaw and made him stare into his eyes. If only Jack could see how much this was tearing Bitty up inside. His stomach houses a hurricane; his hand quakes with the force of the earth’s crust.

Jack walks right past the storm that is ranging inside him. Bitty scrambles to clutch his arm.

“Where are you going?”

Jack huffs and turns his stormy eyes to Bitty. “I love you, okay. It’s-I need to think. I’m going on a run.” He leans down and plants a kiss on Bitty’s temple.

Warm breath ghosts over Bitty’s closing eye lids. The stinging in his eyes is barely contained.

“Okay,” Bitty manages to whisper after the door clicks closed.

~~~

Baking is not just a means to fight hunger pangs after a long day of class. It can bully anger right out of his fingertips. Pounding sugar and eggs can beat out the way Jack’s voice keeping spinning around his head. Eating a slice of cake can push down the sadness making up residence in his throat.

Bitty slams his palm in the thinned out dough. The laminate counter does not give so easily and a dull thud echoes throughout the kitchen.

“Ow,” Bitty whines. He shakes out his hand hoping that the pain will fall right out of there.

The rolling pin sits untouched next the huge mass of stretched unbaked crust, but Bitty likes the feel of the flour and dough between his fingers. It is much more satisfying to rip and squish the mix with his hands.

Bitty pulls at one end of the taunt dough and it tears. Frustrated, a grunt rips out from between his teeth. He shreds it all up again and gathers it all into a ball.

“Hey, Bits. You okay there?” Ransom asks as he steps into the kitchen. He wears a small smile and approaches slowly. “You’re really being a bully to that dough. Want me to go get a locker so you can shove it in there?”

Bitty continues to drive his fist into the crust. “Hardy har har. Y’all are so funny I can’t even stand it!”

“Woah, man, I’m serious. I can go get Holster or Lardo if you need someone to talk to. There’s no need to take it out on the baked goods.”

Ransom has his hands up like Bitty is an animal just waiting to attack. It sets Bitty’s teeth on edge. How dare they expect him to be all nice and polite every single day of his life? Did they even care when they messed with his and Jack’s relationship?

Bitty throws the dough on the counter and it lands with a heavy thwack. “You know what? I am so good right now. I’m not mad. I just love tearing up dough and slamming it around. Oh, and you know what else I _especially_ love? I love it when you and Holster interfere with my love life. I love it when a guy says he’s gay and y’all think: ‘oh this guy is just perfect for our little Bitty.’”

“What did Holster do? I swear to the Baked Good Gods that I have not schemed at all this year to get you a date. I’ve been too busy!” Ransom comes closer and wraps his arms around Bitty’s shoulders. He pulls gently to a warm solid hug. When Ransom’s hand starts rubbing soothing circle on his back, Bitty wants to let the dam break loose and sob. Instead he starts bites his lips and breathes carefully.

“Oh, God, it’s nothing,” Bitty says into Ransom’s shoulder. “Whiskey asked me out because Holster told him to. I don’t even know how to let him down easily.”

Whiskey’s confused, sad face flashes in his mind, and Bitty just wants to scream. They were just becoming friends, and then all this had to go down.

“Just breathe, Bits. It’s not a big deal. I’m gonna punch Adam in the face for you, and then we’re gonna tell Whiskey that you are good friends and should stay that way, hmm?”

Bitty cuddles closer to Ransom’s strong arms. “Can I take a picture when you punch Holster in the face?”

“Obviously, bro.”

 

~~~

 

Lardo was generous enough to film the entire event, while Bitty watched enraptured by the two buff D-Men wrestling all across the attic. In the end, Lardo declares Ransom while a steaming Holster is pinned underneath him. Ransom suggested putting it on Bitty’s youtube page (Holster seconded that idea, somehow believing that it would become viral, and he would get a spot on the Ellen show).

After the fighting died down, Bitty felt lighter for a moment. He finished the pie crust without completely destroying the kitchen. The golden brown cherry-filled desert was chilling in the fridge.

Around sunset, Bitty has the whole kitchen and living room cleaned to the standard of a hospital. Bitty stands by the window in the kitchen, and it feels so quiet that his ears ache with the need to hear something. It has been hours since Jack went on his run, and outside the sidewalks are empty. Bitty has waited for a glimpse, has checked his phone and yet nothing.

Leaning on the window sill, Bitty sees Whiskey sitting slumped on the porch steps. Something inside Bitty’s heart tugs. The way he sits there makes Whiskey look like a statue that Lardo carved in memorial to hockey bros.

_It’s now or never_ , Bitty thinks.

Bitty opens the door, and the soft glow of the purple sunset fills his vision. The somber feel of the evening calms Bitty’s thudding heart.

Whiskey doesn’t look up as Bitty crosses the porch to sit next to him. They both watch the sky mix red, pink, and purple across Earth’s horizon. Right now, the world is soft, and the sounds of barking dogs and laughing teens are muffled and far away.

“The sunset is pretty tonight,” Bitty says.

Whiskey turns his head slightly and smiles crookedly. “I think this is the part in a romcom where I’m supposed say: Yeah, it is. But I’m actually just looking at you.”

Bitty could feel a blush furiously spread upon his cheek. “That would be very sweet of you. . .”

Whiskey hears the pause at the end of his words and hangs his head. “But. . .”

Bitty’s heart softly breaks. It’s nowhere near the pain he felt when he saw Jack’s hurt face earlier. This pain is more like his heart is held together by a thread and someone is pulling it out. Whiskey is a pop song break up, while Jack is a middle school emo song break up.

“You’re my friend,” Bitty says with all the sincerity that is contained in his bones. “I just wanna stay friends. Let’s get to know each other. Let’s just hang out. I don’t wanna force anything.” Bitty bumps his shoulder into Whiskeys. “You’re a cool guy.”

Whiskey bites his lip and lifts his head. “I really do like you, Bitty. I _am_ really happy to be your friend.” He sighs. “Maybe I let Holster get me carried away with my feelings. But let’s be honest: I was just happy to have another gay guy interested in me.”

Bitty chuckles. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I came from a small southern town.”

“Hey, but I’m glad we’re still friends.” Whiskey full on smiles and extends his hand. “No more awkwardness?”

Bitty smiles with the force of a thousand suns. He surges his hand up to meet Whiskey’s. “No more awkwardness!”

After hours of a brewing storm, signs of a reprieve begin to form in his gut. Bitty’s stomach was in the eye of the hurricane, and for a moment, it was good. Everything felt settled with them, and now Whiskey and Bitty could continue on their journey to becoming real friends.

“We can still watch Drag Race together. I mean, you cannot leave me to watch it alone with Holster. He’s so intense about it!” Bitty exclaims.

Whiskey chuckles. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just spoil it and save you the trouble?”

“Ugh, tempting, but Holster would kill me.”

“Okay then, we are definitely friends; at least when Drag Race is on.”

Bitty elbows him in the ribs, and Whiskey feigns pain.

They stayed like that for an hour. Bitty laughed and smiled with Whiskey at all their dumb jokes. They sat out there just bullshitting, and Bitty felt like he was actually getting to know the real Whiskey.

“Okay, okay,” Bitty says through a laugh. “Tell me one more time: why do you hang with the lax bros?”

“Because you told me not to!”

“Oh boy, I can’t!” Bitty laughs and laughs until he sighs, “I better head in and eat something. My god, I hope Jack comes home soon.” The sky had darken, but Bitty could the moon and the star highlighting the sidewalk—still it was empty.

“Yeah, I’m going to head back to my dorm.”

They both stand. Bitty wipes his butt of any dirt. When Bitty looks up, Whiskey wraps him in a hug.

“Thanks for being nice about everything,” Whiskey says.

Before Bitty can offer the same in reply, he heads down the stairs. Bitty watches as Whiskey walks down the sidewalk out of sight.

Bitty turns back to the Haus, letting the serene feeling that wrapped him up outside follow him. When he opens the door, he hears music softly playing, the lights are dimmed. It’s a Friday night at a frat house, and it’s quiet and clean; something big is about to go down.

Bitty tiptoes around the corner into the kitchen and instantly gasps.

The usually dingy, semi-dirty kitchen looked like a five-star French restaurant. The creaky table is covered with a black tablecloth, and on top of that, there are small tea candles. In the middle of the table, there is a clear vase filled with a bouquet of purple hyacinths. The counters are covered with various sized candles with their flames dancing along to the somber piano music.

Bitty gasps when he feels arms wrap him up from behind. A kiss is planted upon the shell of his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers.

Bitty’s heart leaps into his throat, and for a second, all he can do is stare at the scene before him.

“Wha-how?” Bitty turns to face his beautiful boyfriend. Jack slides his hands up to cup Bitty’s face. His thumbs stroke at the edge of Bitty’s jaw.

“I did a lot of thinking today.” Bitty watches Jack’s Adam’s apple bob. “I’ve been screwing up lately.” Jack holds up a finger before Bitty can interrupt. “I’m serious. I was so jealous of you and Whiskey that I just shut down emotionally. I should have talked to you, but I just let myself fall back into my mind. You should have friends that are out, that you can be open with. For a second, I imagined what it would be like for you to date him. You could hold hands with him in public. You wouldn’t have to sneak him up to your room. I feel like I’m putting you into a whole new closet, and I don’t want that for you anymore, okay?”

“Oh Jack!” The tears that have been threatening to fall all day finally burst from Bitty’s eyes. “How could you think that? There was no reason for you to be jealous, because no matter what kind of guy that may waltz through this house, I will always love with everything I got. Sometimes it feels like I’m breathing under water when I think about how much I love you, okay? I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t care who knows.” Bitty tightens his hands in Jack’s shirt. He feels the raging thunderstorm brewing in his eyes—he doesn’t want to scare Jack but he has to show him how his love erupts inside of Bitty.

“If I could, I would lock us away on a deserted island, so that we could just be together—to experience each other, to be inside each other for so long that we forget where which one of us ends or begins.” Bitty gasps like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “I love you, Jack. I do so much,” he says in a sob. “I just want you to be happy—no pressure, none of it.”

Jack squashes Bitty to him. “I am happy. I am. Shhh,” Jack says to his sobs. “It’ll be okay.”

Bitty needs to feel Jack right now. He pulls on Jack’s neck and slams into his lips. A need explodes in him so deep and fierce. Bitty wants Jack to devour him; every pull and nip of his lips only intensifies that. Bitty wants Jack to take him, to pull him closer until the heat of their passion melds them into one.

Jack’s tongue twirls its way inside of Bitty’s mouth. Bitty tangles his hands in Jack’s silky hair. He digs his fingers in like roots of a tree. Jack moans when Bitty pulls.

Their mouths separate, and Bitty gasps, “Never let go, Jack.”

Jack grunts and suddenly Bitty is lifted and his legs go around Jack’s waist. The heat building between them swells in a fever pitch. Clothes need to be off, but Jack decides to drive them onto the table. The vase wobbles but stays steady.

“Wait! Jack, Jack. We have to stop.”

Jack moans, “Why?”

The heat of his whisper sparks down Bitty’s spine, but he has to stop. In the corner of his eye, he sees a shark jacket on the stairwell, and then he remembers: they’re in the Haus—the Haus where his teammates live, who know no personal boundaries and don’t know that Jack and Bitty are a thing—and someone could walk in on them.

“Jack, what about the guys?”

Jack pulls back and smirks. “I gave them money for dinner, and I told them I needed some alone time with my boyfriend.”

Bitty rears back and takes him in—the messy hair, the bright blue eyes, and his kiss-swollen lips.

“What?” Bitty’s heart beats faster and faster. This is a poor dad joke on Jack’s part indeed.

“I told them.” Jack’s eyes bore into the deepest parts of him, into his heart. He must know how much this means to Bitty, because, before Bitty can open his mouth, Jack’s lips are pressed against it.

“Mmph. I, mm, can’t believe, mmm, you,” Bitty says in-between kisses.

The onslaught stops, and for a moment, they just both stare into each other’s eyes and feel the love being silently communicated.

“You didn’t have to,” Bitty whispers.

Jack strokes his thumb across Bitty’s bottom lip. “But I did. I wanted us to have this one thing, this one safe space with our friends.”

“Oh, my god, Jack! How did even get rid of them after telling them something like that? Oh, my god, what did my baby Chowder’s face look like?”

Something inside of Bitty unravels, something that had long been forgotten about. Bitty feels so much lighter in that moment like he could float right up and hit the ceiling. This was never something he thought he needed, but now that he has it, Bitty can feel the breath that he has been holding for only God knows how long finally leave his body.

Looking at Jack, Bitty can see how the shadows under his eyes are gone—another thing Bitty never noticed. Jack doesn’t hesitate to caress Bitty’s cheek or to pepper kisses on every piece of skin within reach. It’s not in public, but it feels like a gigantic step in the right direction.

“I love you, Jack,” Bitty says before surging into Jack’s lips. He lets the hunger drown him. He lets Jack’s body overwhelm him and take him under. Jack devours him and Bitty lets him.

 

~~~

The next morning, Bitty wakes up entangled with Jack. His head is pillowed on Jack’s heart and he can hear the quiet thrum of Jack’s pulse. Warm arms encircle Bitty’s back, and Bitty feels warm and close to Jack like never before. Bare skin on bare skin makes them inseparable.

Bitty wakes first. The light from the afternoon sun heats until he is forced to open his eyes and confront his discomfort.

Their skin contact becomes slick and sweaty, but Bitty cannot find it within himself to break away from the soft hush of Jack’s breath or his strong muscles that have a slight give to them.

He snuggles closer, trying to press until Jack’s skins sucks him right in. He nuzzles into Jack’s neck and smells the grimy and cologne scent that clings there. When Bitty fills his lungs with it, Jack beings to stir.

Jack groans and stretches his arm far above his head; his biceps bulge and then he settles his hands behind him onto the pillow. Bitty’s head nestles into his armpit. They both lay on their backs and stare up at the white ceiling.

“Good morning,” Bitty says in his crispy morning voice.

Jack tips his head down and kisses Bitty’s temple. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

Last night flashes through Bitty’s mind: the kisses, the take out they ate after making out, more kissing (but in bed), and then collapsing together by the end of the night. Bitty had slept like the dead wrapped up in Jack’s arms. They did not get enough nights of this, but this was definitely thoroughly locked away in Bitty’s memory.

“Oh, you know, it was okay.”

“Same. Would have been better if I had a whole bed to myself,” Jack deadpans.

Bitty elbows him right in his hard abs. Jack barely notices and just goes on laughing like he just told the best joke of 2015.

“Chuck it up. Guess who isn’t making you breakfast now.” Jack seals his lips tight. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

They both lay there, enjoying the warm cocoon that they created in bed. Bitty drifts for a second before he hears the tell-tale creak right outside his door. He curls deeper into Jack’s arms ignoring whoever is moving at this hour.

Five seconds later, his door jiggles a little and whispers come through muffled.

Bitty cracks an eye and looks up at his boyfriend. Jack is staring at the ceiling but doesn’t look like he heard anything.

Bitty continues to watch the door when all of the sudden it bursts open and all the members of the Haus come stampeding through the door.

Holsters tumbles through first followed by Ransom and Chowder. Lardo struts in right behind the mess.

Bitty shoots up out of Jack’s arms. He scrambles to pull up the comforter to his throat. “What the hell are all of yall doing?” Bitty shrieks.

Holster lays sprawled across Bitty’s floor with Ransom and Chowder on top of him like an ill-conceived dog pile. The mass of bodies heaves as Holster crawls to his knees and over to the bed. He grabs Bitty hand in a desperate hold. “Bitty, dude, we couldn’t wait any longer. We had to see it for ourselves!”

“See what?! All of our goodies!” The comforter creeps closer to Bitty’s scarlet face.

Ransom pops up next to Holster. “Brah, did you just say goodies?”

Bitty steals his hand back from Holster. He turns and hides his face in Jack’s shoulder. “Make them go away, Jack!”

A chuckle rumbles out of Jack’s chest. “Okay, you guys have to leave or my boyfriend might dig his way through this bed.” Bitty thumps him once on his chest without leaving his hiding spot.

“Please, Bitty, tell me you’re not naked under there? Oh my, God, what if we interrupted something?” Chowder cries. He hurriedly covers his eyes and turns around. “I’m so sorry, Bitty! I just wanted to say congrats. I told you guys we should have knocked!”

Sweet Chowder’s discomfort makes Bitty’s heart twinge. He pulls himself off of Jack, out of his bed, and pushes Holster and Ransom aside. With his boxer-clad booty, Bitty tackles Chowder, who still has his eyes closed.

“Thank you, Chowder. I love you, my beautiful son whom I birth,” Bitty whispers.

“What was that, Bitty?” Chowders pulls backs.

“Nothing. Nothing you need worry about.”

Bitty ends the hug to look at Lardo who finds herself just leaning against the doorframe watching the chaos ensuing inside of Bitty’s bedroom. She meets Bitty’s eyes and lifts her chin as if to say what’s up.

Embarrassment causes Bitty’s face to scrunch up with joy. “So, me and Jack are dating.” He shrugs and scuffs his foot against the floor—looking like a scolded child.

Lardo stands at the door like a queen on a diplomatic journey. The weight of her judgement fills the air. Everyone freezes in their various poses, holding their breath to see if this union will be blessed. Lardo straightens. Bitty waits as she shifts her weight, keeping her movements deliberate. Bitty sucks in a breath just hoping to see what her next gesture will be.

Lardo chews on her lip for a moment and then extends her fist. Bitty flinches expecting a shoulder punch for all his secrets kept, but her hand stops right in front of his face. It hovers, and Bitty realizes what the gesture is meant to be.

Bitty bumps her fist and grins until his lips hurts.

“Good job, Jack,” Lardo says before turning and marching off out of sight.

“Dude, I think you guys were blessed or something. This means you have to stay together forever,” Ransom whispers.

Everyone stands in the still air for a moment more letting the scene wash over them.

Then everyone is moving, and Bitty feels hands all over him. Holster and Ransom each take an arm. Suddenly Bitty is lifted and he is moving toward the bed. Bitty kicks and kicks trying to break their hold. They both use their combine strength to toss Bitty like a ragdoll onto his bed; he lands on Jack’s legs.

All of sudden, before Bitty can reacquaint himself to his new surroundings, the bed shifts, and then three bodies flop on top of him.

The boys jump up and down on the bed shouting, “Congrats! For they are jolly good fellows. For they are jolly good fellows, for no one can deny!”

“I’m so sorry, Bitty! I had to do it!” Chowder shouts over the rambunctious chants.

Bitty crawls to Jack’s extended arms, and he protects him from the onslaught.

He cuddles into the warm and soft touch of Jack. They wrap themselves up in the cocoon of their love: Jack lays his cheek on Bitty’s head and strokes his cheek and his arm tightens around his waist. And it’s the nicest place he has been in a while.

Bitty watches his friends jump around his bed. He watches the joy that is so obvious on their faces, and he lets that fill up his chest; Bitty feels so full that he could burst. The feeling inside of him reminds him of coming home and giving his mama a hug after being gone so long, or eating his first home cooked meal of the semester. Or it’s like seeing Jack’s smiling face each and every day through a screen or in person.

For a while Bitty never thought he could have this: friends who he could tell his deepest secrets to or a boyfriend who holds him like the finest piece of china. But here he is at twenty years old and he is basically a poster boy in the making for the It Gets Better project.

These boys who have accepted him from his doting mother/pie baking ways to his Beyoncé/turnt dance moves. And having all his secrets out there, to have his relationship celebrated, fills him with the greatest joy.

A disaster in the making became the most cherished moment in Bitty’s life. When he retells this story at his wedding, to his kids, to anyone who would listen, he emblazoned the story with the details of Jack’s courage and the joy they all felt on that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Jack loves Bitty; Bitty loves Jack. Whiskey and Bitty are now bffs forever, and the Haus is at peace.  
> Hope you all enjoyed this little fic. I will back with a marching band au (this is my passion project). I hope to see you all there.  
> Please comment/kudos/bookmark if you felt some feelings from this fic.


End file.
